


Anders/Zevran WIP... drabble?

by The_Arkadian



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, fragment, not sure where exactly I was going with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:45:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: I was going through some WIPs in my Google Docs folder when I came across a brief snippet of… something… involving Anders and Zevran. I think it precedes the sketch. Anyway, this is what I’ve got. I have no idea where I was going with this. I think I just had two scenes in mind - the sketch, and this fragment, and I was perhaps going to tie them together into an actual story which is sort of roughly shaped in my mind and definitely features eventual Anders/Zevran (which seems to be something of a rarepair).Anyway, I figured I'd throw it up here and see what people think. If there's enough interest then I'll flesh this out more and turn it into an actual story. (And finish the picture....)





	Anders/Zevran WIP... drabble?

Anders glared angrily at Zevran as the rain lashed down; they were both soaked to the skin, and the rain running down the mage’s face looked almost like furious tears. He opened his mouth to retort heatedly as he stepped forward, looming over the shorter elf, but then halted as he stiffened, his gaze seeming to pass through Zevran. The Antivan frowned, his body tense, but his expression changed to one of alarm as the colour drained from Anders’ face and he swayed. His staff fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

“Anders?” he asked, concerned as the mage took a halting step forwards. Then, “Anders!” 

He caught the blond apostate as Anders slowly dropped to his knees, face ashen and eyes closed; it was then that he saw it - three black-feathered arrows, one in Anders’ left shoulder, one in his back perhaps a couple of inches above the left kidney, and one barely an inch to the left of his heart. Had Anders not taken that step towards Zevran when he did, it would likely have passed directly through his heart and killed Anders where he stood.

He recognised the fletching; the Crows had found them. He didn’t know if Anders were their target or he, himself. Undoubtedly the arrows would be poisoned. The choice was stark but simple; stay and attempt to fight - they armed with bows, he with only his daggers, unable to see them through the torrential downpour, and every moment Anders dying slowly to their poison.

Or they could flee, and hope the rain would prove as much a hindrance to the Crows as it was to them.

There was only one logical choice, really. And Zevran took it.

Dragging Anders back upright, he slung his staff on the mage’s back as he pulled the injured man’s good arm over his shoulder; then with an arm slung around Anders’ waist, he set off with him into the dark. 

Anders stumbled at his side, face white, eyes glazed as he forced himself onwards with Zevran’s support.


End file.
